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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22604005">i'll be yours (if you'll be mine)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkgrapefruit/pseuds/pinkgrapefruit'>pinkgrapefruit</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the language of flowers [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RuPaul's Drag Race RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Flower meanings, Valentines Prompts, be mine week, flower shop owner! katya, patisserie! trixie, shes back on her bullshit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 15:53:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,498</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22604005</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkgrapefruit/pseuds/pinkgrapefruit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>the week before valentines day is chaotic for one florist and her shop. beautiful, but chaotic.</p><p>[a series of valentines drabbles for be mine week]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo, Kameron Michaels/Asia O'Hara, Monét X Change/Nina West, Scarlet Envy/Yvie Oddly, Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova, Willam Belli/Alaska Thunderfuck 5000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the language of flowers [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626460</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. [ february the eighth: vanessa mateo and the chocolate bouquet ]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>[ february the eighth: vanessa mateo and the chocolate bouquet ]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vanessa runs into Katya’s store six days before Valentine’s day. She’s huffing and panting and by the time she reaches the counter Katya is struggling to understand what the poor girl is saying as sweat drips from her temple. It rolls all the way down her neck, colouring the maroon of her tank top with burgundy splodges. Katya struggles to hold back a laugh and the sound of her stifled snorts shuts the panting girl up. Vanessa fans herself with her hands, long scarlet nails waving in the soft breeze from the door (which was left swinging on its hinges by the red tornado).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What can I do for you today then, Miss Mateo,” Katya asks, teasingly - two fingers walking themselves up and down the soil dusted countertop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vanessa quirks her eyebrow and tilts her head, eyes scanning the board behind Katya’s head before she comes up with an answer. “Can you make me a bouquet that smells like chocolate?” She asks with the unmistakable confidence of somebody who desperately needs to be correct. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katya takes in the full picture. The missing thumbnail, the loose baby hairs and the half untied shoelaces trailing through the damp muddy floor. She assesses the level of sarcasm she can approach this with so as not to make Vanessa (who clearly has some pent up emotion) punch her. She unequivocally decides none.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When do you need it?” She asks instead, pairing up flowers in her head as she scans the room. She identifies a carolina allspice towering in the back of her greenhouse and pictures the dark maroon bloom with some baby’s breath, heuchera and chocolate cosmos. She’s pretty sure she can source the latter from her exotic flower guy and is just trying to remember where she stuck his business card when Vanessa answers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you do it for the twelfth?” She asks, voice hurried and Katya smiles reassuringly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course I can,” She responds, “paying on collection?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhuh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Vanessa returns on the following Wednesday, the floor is cleaner the counter is smooth and she is dressed in a long red bodycon dress. Katya has to resist the urge to trail her eyes up and down the shorter woman as she clips delphiniums and hydrangeas for a different bouquet. Upon the girl’s arrival to the counter, Katya smiles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You scrub up well,” She comments, a joking hint behind her voice. She and Vanessa have been friends for years - her ex brought her once and even when they broke up Vanessa remained a loyal patron. Katya has a few of those - loyal customers, they typically come to her for flowers and then cross the street to Yellow Cloud Patessiere for some of Trixie’s handmade chocolates. They’re a good team, working across the street in tandem sorting people out for anniversaries, holidays, big dates and small dates. They also run discounts between the stores - a free box with twelve roses, a discounted floral arranger for a wedding order. Katya looks through the display window and smiles as the blonde potters around the patisserie, apron covered in flour and chocolate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bitch I would like the flowers sometime soon,” Vanessa jokes loudly to bring Katya back into the room. “I know your boo has a fine ass but I have a date.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katya coos like a teen cheerleader who’s just found out her best friend lost her virginity to the quarterback. She places the bouquet on the counter and leans forward conspiratorially. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I. Need. To. Know. Everything.” She tells her and Vanessa gives a coy smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, she about this tall,” She waves her hand high above her head. “And she’s blonde. Very you but Canadian and hot.” this makes Katya cackle, arms flailing, knocking a tin watering can off the shelf behind her. “Calm yourself Mr-fucking-Tickle,” Vanessa attempts to say in a stern voice but she’s too excited to hold it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She sounds great Ness,” Katya says, utterly sincere. “The bouquet will be fourty five ‘cause I had to call in my exotic flower guy and I’ll be honest the allspice is hella hard to breed and now my entire shop smells more like chocolate than usual-” She rambles til Vanessa cuts her off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am gonna be late to this date if you don’t shut up and just let me pay you. I don’t care about the cost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good luck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bitch, I don’t need luck - I have flowers that smell like chocolate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door slams and Katya watches out of the window as a tall blonde hurries up to the smaller brunette. They hug and the blonde’s face breaks into a smile when presented with the flowers. That’s the best part of the job.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. [ february the ninth: asia o’hara and the cupid’s dart ]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>[ february the ninth: asia o’hara and the cupid’s dart ]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Asia pops in on her way to open the daycare one morning. She strolls through the front of the shop and reaches the counter before Katya has time to come out of the back where she’s doing the morning round of fertiliser. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“O’Hara!” She hollers when she notices her, “Good to see you!” And then she goes to hug her, which is really not preferable when her gloved hands are covered in fertiliser. Asia bats her hands away with some stem trimmings of the counter. Katya pulls both her gloves off with a satisfying pop and throws them into the composting bin (she invested in composting biodegradable gloves when she'd realised she’d need a lot of them and she never looked back).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands clean, she leans her forearms on the counter, looking up at the dark-haired woman earnestly. “What can I do for you, O’Hara?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d been university friends, and before that - gymnastics buddies, Asia had met her wife around the same time - and they’d all gone through their teen years together, thick as thieves. O’Hara, Mikey, and Zamo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Asia chuckles warmly, shaking her head. “I’m never going to get it into your head that I’m a Michaels now,” she says waving her left hand a little in gesture, and Katya shakes her head sweetly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll always be an O’Hara to me. How is Kam by the way? How’s pregnancy?” Asia grimaces at the question, a clear indication that her wife’s pregnancy with twins is anything but smooth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For a tall, strong woman, she is not built to have a baby,” she whines softly. “But we’re so happy, so excited.” This time Asia allows Katya to hug her and it conveys everything the long time best friends haven’t said in a while. It’s a hug full of ‘I love you’ and ‘I miss you’ and ‘you will be the best moms’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, flowers,” Katya musters after a little while and Asia smiles tiredly. “What are you after?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want something that says ‘I will always be yours’, that tells her we are an infinity all at once and she will always have me. Something that says ‘you will be the best mother to our children and I cannot wait to grow old with you.” She pauses before adding, “the most complex way you have of telling her I am utterly and totally in love with her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya swipes a stray tear from under her eye and looks deeply at Asia. “I want that. What you have, I want it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve heard you talk about Trixie,” Asia retorts weakly, “I think you’re going to be okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya lets Asia go with the promise of having it done for her on the way home and begins to move around the shop, frantically looking for everything and anything meaning love. She doesn’t want anything cliché - her oldest friends don’t deserve a cliché, so she avoids roses, and looks for plumeria pudica and cupids dart. Everlasting love and unbridled desire. She fills it in with honeysuckle and heliotrope for devotion, and ivy for endurance, finding beauty once more in the language of flowers as she weaves them together to create a green and pale pink bouquet that she wraps tightly with a white ribbon. It looks almost like the wedding bouquet she made three years ago for Asia’s hands and it feels right to mirror it for her wife.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie comes over on their lunch breaks (an hour later than the average New York lunch break, so they can catch the rush), and she stares at it in awe as Katya explains each blossom and bloom. She ends up crying in the florist's arms, leaving her overalls smelling like sugar and grapefruit curd for the rest of the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At around five o’clock, Asia bustles back through the door, a gift bag from Yellow Cloud in hand and a tired smile on her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Regretting having babies yet?” Katya jokes as she notes the red pen on Asia’s cheek, rubbing it softly with a damp thumb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Asia rolls her eyes but answers anyway, “Always.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Send my love to Kam and the babies,” Katya calls out as Asia makes her way to leave and she hears a faint ‘Will do’ in the breeze as the door closes behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gets a phone call later that night when she’s curled up on Trixie couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you serious about Trixie?” Asia asks as she answers the phone and it’s all Katya can do to stay calm enough to say 'yes' before Asia asks them to be the godmothers and they’re all sobbing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, O’Hara,” Katya weeps down the line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Thank you Zamo.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. [ february the tenth: katya zamolodchikova and the pink persuasion ]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>[ february the tenth: katya zamolodchikova and the pink persuasion ]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The shop is unusually empty for the week before valentine's day when Trixie pops over one morning. She walks around behind the counter and through to the greenhouse where Katya is weeding the chrysanthemums, and wraps her arms around her from behind. Her chest presses against the notches in her girlfriends spine and she sighs as she feels warm (if not slightly damp) fingers intertwined with her own.</p><p>“How are the bouquets going?” She asks, voice muffled by Katya’s hair, loosening her arms a little, so her girlfriend can turn in the embrace and hug her properly. </p><p>Katya, suddenly excited, jumps a little and drops her arms. She does a wild spin before pointing to a bush of peonies and moving as fast as she can towards it. This is easier said than done, when the beds are not in neat rows, but instead are placed like tetris blocks. She jumps over the crawling root of an ornamental mint, which is attempting to cross into the emptier bed of the newly planted gardenia, as she scolds it under her breath.</p><p>Trixie just laughs as she watches her buffoon of a lover hop, skip, and jump over to the far corner of the greenhouse, before carefully following her, trying not to get her white kitchen vans muddy.</p><p>“I know you asked about bouquets in general, but instead I had a better question,” Katya rambles as soon as Trixie is within earshot (the air regulator is a noisy beast). “What do you think of these?” She presents the pink peonies in a way one would present a game show prize, wide smile and smiling eyes. Trixie steps over a hose wire and loops her arms around Katya’s waist, leaning into her. </p><p>“What do they mean?” She whispers, teeth pulling at her bottom lip. It is her favourite thing, watching as Katya explains with such love and care what every flower they meet means. </p><p>“Well, the common peony,” Katya recites with ease, eyes closed as she rests her head on Trixie’s shoulder, “it means romance, prosperity, good fortune.”</p><p>“Mhmm,” Trixie pushes on, watching her face with such adoration that suddenly she feels naked. </p><p>“They can also mean bashfulness,” she adds with a smirk. “And bravery.”</p><p>“I love it,” Trixie exhales, breaking the way her eyes have been mapping Katya’s face, and looking over to the pale pink blossoms. </p><p>Katya takes her hand and spends the rest of Trixie's break leading her around the pinkest flowers she has to offer. Peach Blossom and Pink Rainflower. Sweet Pea. Every way of saying <em> I love you </em> without saying <em> I love you </em>.</p><p>Trixie still says it nonetheless. Whispers into her cheek with a chaste kiss as she leaves for the last few hours of business - letting Katya finish up plans for a mixture of Chocolate Cosmos and California Allspice that makes her mouth water.</p><p>Katya finishes the day with a cutting of a pink chrysanthemum tucked behind her ear. She clears up the shop, sets the air temperature regulator onto night mode, and turns the burglar alarm on, before walking across the street to the patisserie. She takes her evening spot on one of the eat in bar stools and Trixie brings out a passionfruit and white chocolate cookie with a peony painted on top with edible ink.</p><p>And as Katya remembers she used to hate pink - she laughs.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. [ february the eleventh: scarlet envy and the orange desire ]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3 class="title">
  <em>[ february the eleventh: scarlet envy and the orange desire ]</em>
</h3><p> </p><p>Katya met Scarlet on the brunette's first week in New York. She was a freshman at Parsons, wanting some flowers to say thanks to her moms for staying to help her settle in, and Katya had been happy to oblige. She threaded together Lilac, Hyacinth, and Gardenia to create a bunch all about familial love. Scarlet had returned fortnightly ever since - flowers for dorm rooms and teachers, and the family whom she babysat for.</p><p>Six months on from that first meeting, Scarlet hurries through the front door into the warmth of the shop with wide eyes. “Katya!” She calls out with excitement as she nears the counter, dinging the assistance bell a few times for effect. </p><p>Katya should really be annoyed at this, but she knows all too well that excitement is the catalyst for greatness, so she absorbs every last drop of enthusiasm from the younger girl's energy and lets it fuel her for whatever may come. </p><p>“Scarlet Envy!” She responds with exuberance, hands busying themselves with a couple of pipe cleaners she keeps in the top drawer of the cash register. “What can I do for you?”</p><p>Scarlet’s demeanour suddenly drops, the girl looking forlorn and unsure. “There’s this girl…” She starts wistfully and it makes Katya bust out with inappropriate, but raucous laughter, knowing she has been in that exact place many times before. She calms herself and tries to look as motherly as possible.</p><p>“Do you know what you want?” She asks, allowing the soft spot she has for the student to grow a little more. </p><p>Scarlet crinkles her nose. “I want her,” she muses quietly. “Does that count?” </p><p>Katya swiftly realises she’s not going to get a particular answer out of the girl, so she switches her angle. “Tell me about her,” she asks, softer.</p><p>“She’s wild, but not in a particularly wild way. She doesn’t care what you think, but I want her to care what I think.” Katya notes this carefully in her mind, eyes scanning the room for flowers that fit. She holds up a hand to pause Scarlet for a second as she searches the front room of the shop before lifting a hand in triumph. </p><p>“Red Camellia,” she announces. “A flame in the heart. And Red Carnation too, for heartache. Go on.” </p><p>She keeps moving like this, as Scarlet waxes poetically about the girl, collecting sprigs of different flowers until she has an armful. She holds up a hand once more, however, once she reaches her counter. “Something’s missing,” she muses. “Favourite colour?”</p><p>“Orange.”</p><p>“Orange Lily.” Katya plucks out of a nearby trough. “Desire.”</p><p>She arranges them as Scarlet watches in awe, the blonde plucking different sprigs and fluffing the bouquet with Baby's Breath and Myrtle and tying it all with an orange ribbon.</p><p>“It looks, fiery,” Scarlet comments with a chuckle as she is handed the finished product. </p><p>“By the sound of it, that would fit,” Katya retorts and Scarlet only nods in response. “I’d pop over to Trixie to grab some macaroons too if you're serious about this,” she jokes.</p><p>“I am.” Scarlet blushes and hands over the forty dollars she owes, before Katya hands one twenty back to her.</p><p>“My treat.” Katya decides and sticks to her choice - the student feeling like a little sister, one she cares for deeply.</p><p>When she gets back to Trixie’s that night, she collapses onto her side with a sigh.</p><p>“I need to stop being so attached to my clients,” she mutters, and it makes Trixie smile to see how much her girlfriend cares. “It’s bad for business.”</p><p>“We both know it’s not,” she retorts and Katya sticks her tongue out, petulant as ever.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. [ february the twelfth: monét x change and the bleeding heart ]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h2>
  <em>[ february the twelfth: monét x change and the bleeding heart ]</em>
</h2><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nina and Trixie went to musical theatre college before Trixie switched plans to Patisserie school. She was always quietly ambitious and enviously good at being anyone but herself. Somehow it never quite translated to a professional job, though - the need for a skilled actress vastly outweighed by the need for a pliable subject to sing a song and look pretty -, as was the golden age of Broadway. This is not Katya’s range of expertise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That being said, when Nina finally got a job, it was a moment of triumph that involved a four-tier cherry blossom cake (Trixie’s obsession at the time) and more gin than should be safely consumed by three adult women in a small New York apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was at that job where Nina met Monét - a tall, dark, and, objectively, a rather handsome woman playing the lead to Nina’s understudying role as Jenna. They skirted each other for months, as Trixie had to listen to Nina’s whining about the hot actress with the legs for days and the sense of humour that set her stomach on fire. And then - fucking finally - they got together, and all was good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, Monét burst through the door to the florist as it was closing, asking for flowers. And then - Katya threatened her life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was slightly deeper than that, but the overview suffices.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Monét leans her back against the wall, stifling a snort. “I’ve not done her wrong, don’t worry, Kat,” she answers to the threats, a bemused smirk worming its way onto her face. “It’s Valentine's week and I’m pretty sure threatening potential customers is bad for business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This cracks Katya up, as she leans her elbows on the counter - she’d somehow managed to forget the week completely in her exhaustion, and is suddenly mortified that she thought Monét was coming in for a bouquet of the apologetic kind, rather than the romance kind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nevermind, Kat, I’ll forgive you,” Monét responds quickly, seeing the look of anxiety cross the blondes face. “Now, you don’t happen to stock red Bleeding Hearts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya raises her eyebrow, aware of the request, but also vaguely impressed that someone with an apparently small knowledge of plants would know to ask for such a flower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nina’s favourite,” Monét adds, smiling. “Don’t worry, not here to take your job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aha, okay. Do we want straight Bleeding Hearts or a more coherent bouquet?” She asks, switching into business mode even at eight at night. Monet ponders for a second, before deciding on a more mixed bouquet, and then Katya gets to work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulls all the common filler flowers, Ivy, Delphinium and Bells of Ireland, all in dark greens and whites to contrast the bright red of the central flowers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t happen to have something fun I can put it in?” Monét questions as Katya is tying the bunch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde chuckles, but holds up an old-fashioned pink cowboy boot - knowing Nina and Trixie’s shared interests. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect.” Monét takes the flowers and the boot gratefully, placing sixty dollars on the counter. “Thank you, Kat - you’re a lifesaver.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They get</span>
  <em>
    <span> Waitress</span>
  </em>
  <span> tickets in the mail the next day.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. [ february the thirteenth: willam belli and the black rose]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>[ february the thirteenth: willam belli and the black rose]</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Willam calls her in late January to set up an appointment for February 1st. It’s a system Katya rarely uses now, with the majority of the people not planning flowers too far in advance, but she still appreciates it when someone calls ahead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Willam is a stickler for the rules. As much as her messy hair, colourful eyeshadow and chunky necklaces may try to convey otherwise - the woman is a CEO, a business professional with no time for messing around. So, naturally, she calls three weeks in advance, turns up ten minutes early, and has an action plan lined up before Katya can say hello. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you feel about colouring Roses?” Willam comes straight out with the question, as she avoids letting her mint green pantsuit touch anything that has been in contact with soil.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It depends on the colour,” comes Katya’s reply, the woman cradling a Red Bull like it’s the most precious thing on Earth. It's seven a.m.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Black,” is the straightforward answer, and it leaves Katya reeling to come up with all the connotations. She knows the woman in front of her well enough to know this colour is a premeditated choice. “I would use natural Black Roses, but we both know white is stronger,” she pauses for a second, reaching into the Birkin held in the crook of her elbow. “It needs to be able to hold this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything slots into place in Katya’s head the minute she sees the small red ring box. It could only hold one thing, from the care it is being handled with, and as it pops open, she comes face to face with an engagement ring. It’s gold with an emerald set into the mouth of the snake, it’s fangs holding it in place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose we’re going black for big life changes, as opposed to grief,” Katya jokes, but her eyes stay trained on the ring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could grieve for my bank account when Alaska starts to plan the wedding,” Willam returns, letting her harsh demeanour relax a little, now that her big plan has been unveiled. “Now, back to the question?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, yes,” Katya hums, mulling it over. “I know a guy that can get me some good water soluble black ink in a few days - should take twelve hours for the inking and…” her thoughts trail off but she catches up to them again with a noise reminiscent of ‘eureka’. “We could wet it if you want?” She asks hesitantly but with enthusiasm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Willam raises her eyebrow at the thought, but motions for her to continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clear Epoxy in a thin layer will preserve the rose, and we can bend the inner petals to hold the flower.” Katya pulls out a pad from the top draw and a pencil from the messy bun in her hair, sketching in fast fluid movements, until she’s got a solid plan in front of her. She looks up expectantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Willam answers simply, collecting herself once more. “I take it you can have this ready for the thirteenth?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can leave it in my very capable hands,” Katya responds with a nod of her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” The smile is warm, but suffices perfectly in reminding Katya that this is really fucking important.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It goes off without a hitch and Willam, Katya’s first investor, calls her to thank her a few days later. It means the world.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. [ february the fourteenth: trixie mattel and the never-ending kiss ]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>'there are those blurred ones, that you read and they do tell a story as well, but you more feel them than read'</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for coming with me on this. happy valentines day. i love you all.</p><p>(mainly you, frey.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>[ february the fourteenth: trixie mattel and the never-ending kiss ]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At four-thirty a.m. the world is quiet. Trixie wakes naturally at this time - years of habit ingrained into her muscles, as she watches New York stand still out of her window. She rolls over to face Katya, her girlfriend's dirty blonde hair loose from the bun she’d thrown it into the night before, snuffling in her sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie reaches a hand out from under the covers and moves the hair off her face before she leans forward to kiss her good morning. Katya, rousing from her slumber, smiles into the kiss, putting as much force into it as one can at four in the morning, before opening her eyes. They adjust to the almost-dark quickly, the dim light of an early dawn streaming through the fire escape and into the bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” Trixie whispers, voice croaking as it warms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” replies Katya sleepily, still wrapped in the covers, but mobile enough to give her girlfriend a peck on the nose before they both start to rise. Katya shakes her limbs and dances her way across the small apartment to warm herself and make coffee as Trixie switches the water heater on, laughing to herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They run businesses that start early and end late. They move through their days with enthusiasm and caffeine, planting the seeds of love where they can, and baking in time for each other. Their morning routine is second nature, Trixie showering first so she has more time to get ready and being greeted by vanilla coffee as they trade the bathroom for the bedroom. Katya takes less time, but they both end up dressed at the same time, just waiting to finish their coffees and feed the cat before they can leave, so they’ll do a little fashion show and Katya will twirl Trixie around, so her skirt splays out like a pinwheel and she giggles like she did that one night in Paris. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They take their bikes out of the living room and awkwardly carry them downstairs, while trying not to wake the neighbours, cycling from Kips Bay towards West 27th Street with more reckless abandon than they really should, but they’re young enough and free in a big city with empty-ish roads and just enough light to see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They keep the bikes in the back of the florist so that nothing contaminates the bakery, and Katya checks all of the alarms while Trixie turns on the heating in the Patisserie. They split for a second, so that they can sort themselves out, only to reconvene at 7 a.m., just before opening - Katya unlocking the door to Yellow Cloud with a smile and a wave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” she calls out to lure Trixie out of the kitchen, and she’s greeted by a grin and a chuckle, and a tray of red truffles shaped like different flowers. Katya looks at them in awe, savours the moment of peace, of love and calm, and the look on Trixie’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In turn - she presents the bouquet of the day, all the flowers she’d walked her through, arranged into a bouquet she couldn't fit behind her back. She knows she will explain them all again in whisper tones as Trixie's hands grip the sheets of their mattress and the sky is melting away into strawberry milkshakes, but she wants to wait for that. Knows it cannot be rushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kiss me,” requests Trixie, and she looks so sweet, innocent - eyes wide and lips full - and Katya cannot resist. The moment lasts forever. Katya will never forget.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” she whispers into her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” she whispers behind her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I love you.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tumblr: @pink-grapefruit-cafe</p><p>thanks for reading!<br/>leave a comment to let me know what you think &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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